


innate immunity (and a lack thereof)

by parsnipit



Category: Solar Opposites
Genre: Alien Biology, Angst with a Happy Ending, Family Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Light Angst, M/M, Pre-Canon, Sickfic, and terry should have never ever mentioned war of the worlds, in which terry is sick, korvo is stubborn, the replicants are worried
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:54:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24815644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parsnipit/pseuds/parsnipit
Summary: Aliens have no innate immunity to any of Earth's diseases. It was only to be expected that, despite all possible precautions, one of them was going to fall ill.Naturally, it justhadto be Terry.
Relationships: Korvotron "Korvo"/Terry (Solar Opposites)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 91





	1. quarantine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: illness, quarantine, mentions of death

Schlorp was a perfect utopia, but even it had its fair share of diseases and ailments: bacterial wilts and blight, ergot and powdery mildews, and even (Korvo shudders to think of it) root rots. Earth, being both a dystopia and a completely alien planet, is a million—no, a billion!—times worse. Korvo begins researching their new planet as soon as they ~~crash~~ land the ship, and the lists of deadly Earthen diseases he finds could fill a Schlorpian batterhatch mine. To make matters worse, he and his evacuation team have no innate immunity to anything on this forsaken planet. The Schlorpian evacuation committee had foreseen this, fortunately, and supplied them with a strict quarantine protocol. 

For their first few weeks on Earth, Korvo manages to bully his teammates into following that protocol. They stay on the ship whenever possible, only venturing out with the proper quarantine suits. The replicants are easy enough to control—they’re insatiably curious about the outside world, but not willing (not yet) to challenge an adult Schlorpian’s orders. The real problem is Terry. Korvo understood that his evacuation partner was somewhat lacking in the _common sense_ department, but even he couldn’t have foreseen this level of recklessness and disregard for the—for the mission, for their replicants, for their _team!_

“Woah, hey, chill out,” Terry says as Korvo begins to fume, holding his hands up, palms out—a defensive, disgustingly human gesture. “It’s all cool. I just popped over to the store for, like, two seconds. It was an in-and-out operation, real slick. I didn’t touch a single human.”

“That is not the problem,” Korvo snaps, the skin of his scalp tingling with the urge to goobler. He runs his hand roughly over his head to wipe away the feeling. “This is why we wear the suits! You don’t have to _touch_ one of them to get their diseases. They could be airborne, o-or in droplets, or all over the surfaces, or—”

“I disinfected everything I bought when I got home, _and_ washed my hands,” Terry says. That’s more than Korvo expected, to be fair. “I’m telling you, we’re all cool. We can’t just hide out forever, man. This is our planet now. We’ve gotta get used to it. I wanna go outside without worrying all the time, I wanna see all the weird stuff around here, I wanna make friends with the humans! I mean, they already think we're weird, and the suits make it even worse.”

“You can’t make friends when you’re _dead,”_ Korvo says, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. “And dead is exactly what you’ll be if you k-keep disregarding our rules like this. You’ll turn into a—a disease-riddled corpse and I’ll have to give you—your gross body an autopsy and then cremate you and throw you into the garbage and—and you can go live in a human landfill for the rest of your life, if you love it here so much.”

“Yeesh,” Terry says, wincing. “That’s kinda harsh.”

“Good! Because it seems like you have—you just have no concept of how important our mission is. And did you even _think_ about the replicants? If you bring diseases in here, they’re dead. They’re b-barely harvested, and we’re supposed to be responsible for keeping them alive—not to mention the Pupa! Do you even know how susceptible it is to disease?”

“Of course I do, I’m the Pupa specialist,” Terry says defensively, but his eyes skitter away from Korvo’s.

“And I’m the President of Earth,” Korvo spits caustically. “You’ve killed us all, Terry, you’ve damned us all to a slow and agonizing death—and for what? A bag of Doritos? Well, you’d better enjoy every last crumb. I’m going upstairs. You stay here.”

Terry shifts his weight from foot to foot as Korvo whirls around and storms away from him, fuming. They’d better get started disinfecting before the replicants get home from school. Korvo’s already been exposed, but maybe, just maybe, the replicants can still survive and finish the mission. Of course, all of that is dependent on keeping both Terry and Korvo away from them until they’re sure they don’t have any human diseases—or until whatever human diseases they _do_ have kill them.

“...Korvo?” Terry asks quietly.

Korvo stops in the doorway, his shoulders stiff. “What?”

“Do you really think everyone’s going to get sick and die? The replicants and the Pupa and—and you? All because of me?”

“I think it’s certainly possible,” Korvo says—he wants to sound sharp, but something about the unhappiness in Terry’s voice causes him to soften his own tone. When he turns around, Terry has his hands in front of his chest, wringing his fingers and his abracadactyls anxiously. A lone gobbler pops off of his forehead and skitters away on the slick tile. 

“I don’t want anyone to die,” Terry says. His voice wobbles at the edges. “What—what can we do? You’ve got a plan, right? You’ve gotta have a plan, man, you always have a plan, you’re the—the plan guy, the plan man, you gotta know what to do—”

“Of course I have a plan,” Korvo sighs, and he sees Terry’s shoulders sag with relief. “Go to the bedroom and stay there. I have to disinfect out here, and then I’ll join you. We’ll quarantine ourselves in the house, and the replicants can stay in the ship until we find out if either of us is sick.”

“And what happens, um—what happens if we are sick?”

“I don’t know.” Korvo’s voice rings hollow, and he hears Terry take a shaky breath from across the room. “Hurry up and get out of here. The replicants will be home soon, and you’re probably shedding germs everywhere.”

Terry races upstairs, taking the stairs two at a time with his stupidly long legs. Korvo follows him, gathering their cleaning supplies from the master bathroom. He begins his disinfection process downstairs, cleaning the front door before moving his way into the living room, the kitchen, the staircase, the hall, the bathroom, and finally into their bedroom. He finds Terry sitting on the bed, his back against the headrest and his knees pulled tightly to his chest. 

“Go shower,” Korvo instructs. Terry’s eyes whip around to meet his, and for once, he obeys without question. 

While Terry showers, Korvo disinfects the bedroom, then settles his cleaning supplies along the far wall. He has a feeling he’ll need them again. Once finished, he takes a seat on the bed and breathes deeply. The air reeks sharply of fake lemon and chemicals. He looks longingly at the window, but he dares not open it. Instead, he packs the cracks around it with Terry’s hoard of strange human t-shirts. It would be better if he could set up a positive pressure vacuum inside the house, but the supplies he needs for that are all on the ship. They're too bulky to teleport down, and he dare not go anywhere the replicants might—not when he may already be infected.

Something twists in his chest, sharp and painful, when he thinks about the replicants, so he picks up his phone and dials Yumyulack’s number. It rings only briefly before Yumyulack answers. “Korvo?” he asks, suspicion in his voice—Korvo doesn’t often call him during the school day. “What’s up?”

“We have a problem,” Korvo says. There’s no point avoiding _that._ It will be obvious enough as soon as they get home. “Terry might have brought home human diseases.”

Yumyulack groans. “What, seriously? How do you know?”

“He went out without a suit.”

“So now he’s sick?”

“Well, not yet, but we’ll have to wait a couple of weeks to be sure he isn’t contagious. When you and Jesse get home, go straight to the ship—use the entryway near the back hatch. It has a sterilization chamber, too. Don’t go in the house at all. There are leftover rations in the ship galley for you to eat, and I’m sure you can get the AI to set up Hulu on one of the hologram projectors so you aren’t bored. Keep the Pupa with you. It should be in the ship when you get home; I think it was inking itself earlier,” Korvo says.

“But what about you guys?”

“Terry and I will be staying in the house. We have everything we need here, so don’t worry about us.”

“Are you sure? What if you need, like, medicine or something? We should be around to help.”

“Absolutely not. If the three of you come anywhere near us, you risk being exposed to whatever diseases we may or may not be harboring. You are to stay away, no matter what happens. If—if it’s necessary, I’ll give you the instructions for a safe bodily cremation. You won’t have to stay on the ship forever.”

“I don’t know how I’m gonna break this to Jesse, man—you know she isn’t gonna like it. I mean, hell, _I_ don’t like it.”

“Well it doesn’t matter if you like it,” Korvo snaps. “It’s an order from your team leader, and you will follow it. Am I clear?”

For a moment, the phone crackles with mutinous silence. Then Yumyulack says, his voice low and unhappy, “Very clear.”

“Good.” Korvo stolidly ignores the guilt simmering in his chest—he hadn’t meant to sound quite so harsh with his replicant, but subordination might just get them killed in this situation. He simply can’t tolerate it. “Let me know when you and the others are home. Stay safe.”

Yumyulack doesn’t bother responding. The phone clicks off, and Korvo sighs and tucks it back into his robes. As he does, the sound of the shower cuts off in the master bathroom. Seconds later, Terry emerges with a towel slung around his waist. 

“I should be the one to tell Jesse,” Terry says, slumping onto the bed next to Korvo. 

“I don’t think that’s wise,” Korvo says. Terry is too soft with her—with all of them. He wouldn’t be able to hold his ground if she started crying, and Korvo knows it. “Yumyulack can deal with her. He’s responsible enough.”

Terry stays silent, for once, staring at the carpet. 

“Don’t go into the ship,” Korvo says, “or anywhere near the replicants or the Pupa. Don’t leave the house. I’ll have the AI teleport our medical equipment down in case anything unfortunate happens. In the meantime, life continues as normal.”

“Normal,” Terry repeats, and he doesn’t sound very normal at all. “Right.”

Korvo reaches out, setting an uncertain hand on Terry’s shoulder the way Terry always does to comfort him. There’s little enough comfort to be offered besides that, so he doesn’t say anything. He simply lets his hand rest there for a moment, and then he gets up and goes to make lunch. He sets a handful of Doritos on Terry’s plate, but notices later that (while everything else has been eaten) those chips go deliberately untouched.

For the next two days, things look hopeful. Terry, once he gets over his initial guilt, bounces back into grating cheerfulness. They call the replicants at least once every day to talk. Yumyulack’s touchier than usual, and there are worried creases around Jesse’s eyes, but they stay away—they stay safe—and the Pupa seems to be surviving successfully under their care. It cries when it sees Terry during one of their hologram calls, reaching for the camera until Jesse scoops it up and cradles it in her arms.

“Give it something to eat,” Korvo suggests.

“It doesn’t want something to _eat,”_ Jesse says, her voice suddenly more spiteful than Korvo thinks he’s ever heard it sound. His eyes widen in surprise. “It wants you guys.”

“Soon,” Terry promises while a frown carves itself across Korvo’s face. He holds up all ten fingers and two abracadactyls. “Only twelve more days!”

This doesn’t appear to comfort Jesse (or the crying Pupa) any. Yumyulack’s face darkens, too, and he turns away from the camera. The three of them refuse to be comforted, and Korvo and Terry have to concede defeat. Perhaps their replicants and Pupa will be more agreeable tomorrow, Korvo thinks, once they’ve ended the call. 

“They hate us,” Terry says miserably.

“Don’t be so dramatic. They’ll get over it.”

Terry whines, flopping back onto the bed and drumming his heels against the footboard. “It’s all my fault.”

“Of course it is.” Korvo sniffs haughtily, folding his arms over his chest. “So I don’t understand why they’re mad at _me.”_

“It’s because you’re easy to be mad at.”

“I am not!”

“You are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are _too—_ see, I’m getting mad at you now!”

Being quarantined with Terry, Korvo is coming to discover, is not unlike being stuck in the hell dimension. But, horrible or not, things could always be worse. On the third day of quarantine, they’re both still healthy, and Korvo is beginning to think he overreacted. That would be humiliating, of course, and Terry will never let him live it down—but he’d still prefer it to a slow, uncertain death. He hopes they're both healthy. He hopes so damn _much._ He wants to get back to his teammates, to his replicants and his Pupa and his ship. He wants everything to be normal again.

And then, on the fourth day, Terry wakes up with a fever.


	2. fever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: illness, quarantine, discussions of death and dying

Korvo wakes up because there’s a warm face pressed into the back of his neck and two noodly arms coiled around his waist. The position itself isn’t unusual; Terry always clings in bed, like a particularly stubborn, bony backpack. The temperature Korvo feels, however, is cause for concern. Terry shouldn’t be _warm._ Schlorpians aren’t _warm._ As far as Korvo knows, they only produce their own heat in times of extreme duress—like, perhaps, when their bodies are fighting off a lethal human disease.

Alarm crashes over him in a cold wave, and Korvo elbows and squirms until Terry groans and releases him. Korvo immediately rolls over, raking his eyes over Terry’s form. His partner looks drowsy and malcontent—no doubt pissed at being jarred awake so violently—and his eyes are half-lidded and glassy. 

“Dude,” he mumbles as Korvo stares at him. “The fuck?”

“You’re warm.”

Terry shakes his head, then presses his face into the nearest pillow and curls up more tightly. “I’m cold.”

“No, you’re _warm.”_ Korvo reaches out, squishing his hand rather inelegantly against Terry’s cheek just to double-check. His suspicions confirmed, he adds, “You’re too warm. Terry, you’re sick.”

 _That_ gets Terry awake. He sits up straight, his eyes widening. “What? Sick? Like—like _human_ sick?”

“Maybe. I—I have to do some testing, some research, I have to—” Korvo scrambles out of the bed too quickly. The blankets tangle around his legs and he yelps as he crashes to the ground. Terry makes a worried noise and reaches to help him up, but Korvo is already pushing himself to his feet and bolting for the bedroom door. He has to get his books, has to get to his computer, has to figure out which of the millions of human maladies is threatening Terry before—before—

Korvo swallows hard, his throat clicking in despair.

As soon as he skids into his computer chair, he pulls up the CDC’s website and goes to work. He searches for all of the human diseases that present with a fever and begins combing through them. He knows their alien bodies may not present the same symptoms as a human’s would, but a fever is the best lead he has. Their computer hoards a wealth of knowledge and can easily identify almost any Schlorpian disease, but it wasn’t programmed with data on humans—nor does Korvo have the lab set-up to ID any pathogens himself. He’s a researcher, not a damned microbiologist.

Anxiety curls sharply in his stomach as he scrolls through the list of illnesses: dengue fever, the flu, ebola, the common cold, smallpox, rabies, malaria. Oh, there are hundreds! How is he ever going to figure out which one Terry has? Frantic, he narrows the filters to include only those diseases that are common in Washington and spread via droplets or air. That makes things a little easier, and Korvo manages to take a deep breath.

“Korvo?” Terry steps off of the stairs, padding towards him with their blanket draped over his shoulders and dragging behind him. “What are you doing?”

“Attempting to figure out what you’ve done to yourself,” Korvo says. “Do you have any other symptoms? Do you feel nauseous? Have you been coughing, or vomiting, or—or bleeding from any orifices?”

Terry shakes his head, coming to stand next to him and peering down at the computer screen. “I feel fine.”

“I need you to be honest with me.”

“...I’m a little cold, and dizzy, I guess? And tired, but I think that’s because you woke me up at—” He pauses to yawn, glancing at the computer’s clock. “Fuck, at four thirty in the morning. I’m going back to bed.”

“Tell me if anything changes; it may be important for your diagnosis.”

“You should come back to bed too.”

“No.”

“Korvotron, come on. It’s too early.”

“You could be dying as we speak,” Korvo snaps, hunching his shoulders and glaring at the computer. “I’m not going to lie around _sleeping_ while that happens. Maybe if—if I can figure out what’s wrong, we can figure out a way to treat it before anything bad happens and I get left alone to raise our replicants and rebuild Schlorpian society all by myself. I’ll fix the ship on my own if I have to, b-but you’re not getting out of the rest of this mission so easily!”

Terry hesitates, his grip on the blanket tightening and his toes curling against the floorboards. “...do you really think I could die?”

“It’s too soon to tell, and I’m—I’m—” Korvo flails his arms helplessly. “What the hell do I know about human diseases? Nothing! Your insides could be liquifying as we speak!”

Terry shoots a petrified glance at his torso, dropping the blanket so he can grope his stomach. “Still feels solid,” he mumbles under his breath as Korvo continues to rant.

“There are just—there are so many unknowns, too many unknowns! If you were a human it would be one thing, but you’re not even _close._ You’re as alien as they come, Terry, y-you’re a real freak by _Homo sapiens_ standards. Even if I can figure out what’s wrong with you, there’s no way of knowing if a human cure will work for a Schlorpian, or even if the disease will present in the same manner. The common cold could kill you, for fuck’s sake!”

“What, like _War of the Worlds?”_ Terry asks nervously.

_“War of the Worlds?”_

“Yeah, that movie by Steven Spielberg. The aliens all come down and start killing the humans and they’re, like, super smart and strong and stuff. The humans try really hard to kill them but they can’t do it because the aliens are so powerful, and one of the humans—this guy called Ray, he’s played by Tom Cruise, you know Tom Cruise? That hot guy from _Mission Impossible_? Anyway he has to try save his kids, and it’s got these, like, super cool action shots and—”

“Get to the _point,_ please, Terry.”

“Alright, alright, jeez. So anyway nothing can kill these aliens except for viruses and bacteria and stuff, because they’ve never been exposed to it, so once they get sick they just kind of...die. Is it like that?”

“Yes, Terry,” Korvo says breathlessly, fear digging sharp black claws into his chest and drawing his breath short as he thinks of Terry suffering and sick and _dying._ “It’s exactly like _War of the Worlds.”_

“Oh, man. That’s bad. That’s bad stuff, Korvo. I—I don’t wanna die.” Terry wrings his hands, and several gooblers pop off of his head and crash face-first into the ground. Once there, the gooblers don’t rise and scatter like they usually do. They lay limp and silent, even when Terry pokes one anxiously with his toe. “Oh god they’re not moving. Oh god Korvo I think they’re dead, oh god oh god oh god—”

“Well, don’t poke it like that.” Korvo crouches, picking up one of the gooblers. It curls up in his palm, groaning quietly. “It’s alive.”

“Oh shit, really? Thank goodness, ‘cause I thought—”

The goobler disintegrates into a poof of pink dust in Korvo’s palm. 

“Korvo I’m gonna die!” Terry wails immediately, crashing to his knees in front of Korvo’s chair as an abundance of dying gooblers pop off of his skull. “I’m gonna overheat and get baby brain and my insides are gonna liquify and bleed out all my orifa—orifes—all of my holes and I’m gonna _die!”_

“Stop that right now,” Korvo orders, taking Terry’s shoulders and rattling him until he quits blubbering. “You are not going to die.”

“But—but you just said—”

“I am not going to let you die,” Korvo says, trying to sound more confident than he does desperate. He’s not quite sure he succeeds, but Terry sniffles and wipes his eyes and stops gooblering anyway. He looks at Korvo with hope in his bright, feverish gaze—looks at Korvo like Korvo could fix _anything—_ and Korvo’s shoulders suddenly feel very heavy. “I—I can fix this. You just have to give me some time.”

“Really?”

“Of course really.” Korvo folds his arms over his chest and lifts his chin. “I already told you: I won’t do this mission alone. Besides, the replicants would kill me if I let you die.”

Terry giggles, and although the sound is watery and wobbly, there’s a happy edge to it. “Yeah. They totally would.”

“Plus, I—well.” Korvo clears his throat as the blood rushes to his cheeks. “I need you, a little bit. You’re—I mean, you’re pretty much worthless when it comes to repairing the ship, b-but you know how to take care of the Pupa, and how to make Jesse stop crying after a bad day at school, and how to make Yumyulack’s favorite pancakes and how to talk to humans and how to find all the best movies on Hulu and order everyone’s favorite drinks at Starbucks and—and how to cheer me up when I’m angry. Losing you would be—it just—it would be very inconvenient for everyone! So it’s not going to happen. I won’t let it.”

Terry’s eyes glitter with unshed tears.

“What?” Korvo asks, alarmed. “I was comforting you! D-did I do it wrong? Or are you in pain, are you getting sicker? I can expand my search to include epiphora as a symptom if—”

Terry leans forward and hugs him around the waist, burying his face against Korvo’s stomach and whispering, “I love you too, Korvy.”

“Oh.” Korvo hesitates, then gently rests his hand on Terry’s head. “Yes, well. T-thank you.”

Korvo lets Terry rest against him for a moment—his partner seems reluctant to move, tangling his fingers into the back of Korvo’s nightshirt and nuzzling more firmly into him each time he shifts. Cautiously, Korvo pets his hand across the smooth skin of Terry’s head. He can’t help but admire the pretty, dark dapples there; however, his admiration is quickly cut short when he realizes how _warm_ Terry still feels. 

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” he says briskly, pushing Terry’s shoulder. Terry whines but releases him, pouting when he meets Korvo’s eyes. “What are you, five? Stop that. We have serious work to do.”

Terry rubs his eyes. “I guess. What are we gonna do?”

“Well—” Korvo glances longingly at the CDC database. He’d love to know what Terry is infected with, but he supposes that can wait. What’s important now is to get his fever down so he can rest comfortably and _not_ overheat and die. “We should try to reduce your fever. Come on.”

Korvo takes Terry’s hand and tugs him along to the downstairs bathroom. He fills the tub with cool water—slightly lower than their normal body temperature—and dumps in a capful of scented bubble bath gel to make it more appealing. The water quickly begins to froth, and Terry reaches out to swirl the colorful bubbles as it fills. Korvo fully expects him to balk when it comes time to climb in, but he doesn’t. Instead, he sheds his sweatpants, grimaces, and submerges himself while swearing adamantly. 

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck _coooold,”_ he says, wrapping his arms around himself and shivering pathetically. “Korvo _cold.”_

“I know.” Korvo frowns—it doesn’t please him to see his partner in distress, even if it is helping him. “You only have to stay in for a few minutes. I’m going to go and get our thermometer. Stay put.”

Korvo leaves Terry to soak while he carries their medical equipment to their bedroom. He sets a glass of cold water (and a basin of the same) on Terry’s nightstand, as well as a stack of soft washcloths and a bottle of ocimum syrup. Then he grabs the thermometer and returns to the bathroom. Terry remains obediently in the bathtub, shivering hard enough that his teeth chatter and gooseflesh spreads in droves across his skin. 

“Here,” Korvo says, pressing the small, circular thermometer patch to Terry’s forehead. After a few seconds, it beeps plaintively, and Korvo plucks it off. “Seventy-five.”

“T-that’s pretty g-good,” Terry says. 

“It could be worse,” Korvo allows, tucking the thermometer into his shirt pocket. “The water probably brought it down to a safer level. How do you feel?”

“I’m fr-freezing my r-roots off.”

“Are you still dizzy or tired?”

“Nope. This bath has w-woken me ri-right the fuck up.”

“Good. Get out and dry off.” Korvo keeps a cautious hand behind Terry as he climbs out of the tub, dripping water all over their floor. Next, he helps towel Terry’s legs dry while Terry scrubs off his upper half, swaying gently in place. Korvo doesn’t quite believe he’s not dizzy, given that swaying, so he’s careful when he lifts each of Terry’s feet to dry them. “There, all done. Now get dressed.”

Once Terry’s tugged on his sweatpants, the two of them return to their bedroom. Terry eagerly bundles himself beneath the blankets, humming happily and nosing into the pillows. Korvo takes a seat next to him, prodding him until he sits up again, and then reaches for the ocimum syrup. He pours out a spoonful, and Terry wrinkles his nose as soon as he sees the thick green gel—the scent of it hits them both at once, sharp and pungent.

“Ewww, fuck no,” Terry says, recoiling. “That shit’s nasty.”

 _“That shit_ is going to keep you from overheating,” Korvo says sternly, handing the spoon to him. “Drink it.”

Terry looks miserably at the medication. “Isn’t there anything else? What about, like, ibuprofen? Humans take that all the time.”

“You aren’t human, much as you may want to be. Ibuprofen hasn’t been tested on a Schlorpian metabolism, and I’m not about to turn you into a medical experiment while you’re already ill. We’re sticking to Schlorpian remedies, and this is one of the best. Take it.”

Terry whines, sticking his tongue out to taste the syrup. He jerks back almost immediately. “Korvo _nooooo._ It’s even worse than I remember!”

Korvo growls and stomps out of the bedroom, returning with a Diet Coke in hand. He shoves it at Terry, who accepts it readily in place of the syrup. While Korvo holds the spoon, Terry cracks open the can and gulps down several greedy mouthfuls. “Mm—man, I didn’t even realize I was thirsty,” he says.

“Well, don’t drink all of it now. You’ll need some to wash this down with,” Korvo says, thrusting the spoon at him again. “After that you’re drinking water.”

Terry groans, but he squeezes his eyes shut and opens his mouth. Korvo crams the spoon inside before he can change his mind, and Terry swallows the syrup with a visible shudder. He quickly chugs the rest of his Diet Coke while Korvo sets the spoon aside and stands, heading for the closet. If he’s going to be up for the day, he may as well put his robes on. While he dresses, Terry burrows back underneath the blankets and watches him sleepily.

“Hey Korvo?”

“Hm?”

“Thanks.”

Korvo falters, his fingers slipping on one of his robe’s buttons. “You’re welcome, Terry.”

As soon as he’s dressed, he returns to Terry’s side and dunks one of the washcloths into the basin of cold water on the nightstand. He wrings it until it’s damp, then folds it and sets it across Terry’s forehead. Terry makes a face, shivering and worming further into the blankets. “It’s gonna get the sheets all wet,” he complains.

“They’ll dry,” Korvo says, dampening another washcloth and setting it across the back of Terry’s neck. “Rewet these and place them here again when you wake up. Hopefully they’ll help keep your temperature down. You have your phone, so call me if you need anything or if other symptoms develop. I’ll be just downstairs.”

“M’kay.”

“Now go to sleep.”

“I need a goodnight kiss.”

“You already had one.”

“That was last night. It doesn’t count anymore.”

“It’s morning now, not night.”

“Then I need a good _morning_ kiss. It’s a human ritual. Gotta, uh, blend in with the natives and all that.” Terry looks pleadingly at him. “Pretty please?”

“You are insufferable,” Korvo sighs. But it’s hard to say no to Terry when he looks so hopeful—and Korvo doesn’t think he really wants to say no, anyway. Kissing Terry is no hardship at all. In fact, he rather thinks he likes that display of affection, even if it is hideously human in nature. He leans down, brushing his lips across Terry’s cheek. “Good morning.”

A delighted smile stretches across Terry’s face. “Good morning, Korvo.”

“Now, for the last time, go to _sleep.”_

Terry yawns widely in agreement, then curls up and closes his eyes. Korvo lingers for a moment, watching him anxiously, but he supposes that hovering won’t do him any good. He needs to research before Terry’s symptoms get any worse. If he can’t find a cure, and quickly, he’s terrified of what’s going to happen to Terry—because as confident as he may have tried to seem for his partner, even he knows that death can’t be outsmarted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all the encouragement on the last chapter !! im so thrilled you guys are enjoying this fic so far, aaaa !! <333


	3. diagnosis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: illness, quarantine, discussions of death/dying, nausea and vomiting

Terry calls Korvo several hours later, and Korvo scrambles to answer his phone. “What is it?” he asks, his voice laced with anxiety and his fingers trembling faintly—the same way they have been all morning. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m hungryyy,” Terry whines. “Bring me breakfast?”

Korvo drags his hand down his face and hangs up—but he trudges into the kitchen and starts making breakfast anyway. He fixes one of Terry’s favorites: chocolate waffles drenched in syrup, sprinkles, blueberries, and a small, fluffy mountain of whipped cream. When he goes upstairs to deliver his creation, he finds Terry sprawled out in bed and playing on his phone. 

“Heeeya, Korvy,” Terry says, smiling sleepily. His eyes brighten when he notices the plate in Korvo’s hand, and he sits up and opens his mouth to taste the air. “Oh, shit, waffles? For me? Babe, you shouldn’t have!”

“I really shouldn’t have,” Korvo agrees wryly, setting the plate down on the nightstand. Making these was a waste of precious time, but considering every meal may or may not be Terry’s last, Korvo supposes he’s willing to indulge him.

“They’ve even got the little spaceship sprinkles and the chocolate whipped cream and everything—man, I knew you liked me!” Terry eagerly digs into the waffles, humming in pleasure. Through a mouthful of half-chewed food, he adds, “Mm, these’re so good. You’re actually great at cooking, you know that? We should do breakfast in bed way more often.”

Korvo grimaces, stepping away. “Only if you promise to chew with your mouth closed.”

Terry shoves another forkful of waffle into his mouth, nodding adamantly.

“Good. Now, I have to get back to work. I’ll call the replicants once they get home from school and let them know about your condition.”

Terry opens his mouth, then closes it and swallows before opening it again to ask, “You haven’t told them yet?”

“I didn’t want them to dwell on it while they were at school. It would have been much too stressful,” Korvo says, “and stress isn’t conducive to their studies. They shouldn’t worry about things they can’t change.”

“I guess not.” Terry frowns, scraping the tines of his fork aimlessly against his plate. “They’re still gonna be pissed you didn’t tell them earlier.”

“They can just be pissed, then. I don’t have time to deal with their emotional instabilities right now.”

“Korvo…”

“I’m going back to work.” 

Korvo ducks out of the bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind him. He settles back in at his computer downstairs, resuming his desperate research. His back aches sharply—he’s been sitting in one spot for far too long, he knows, but he’s finally narrowed Terry’s illness down to three likely culprits: the common cold, the flu, or strep throat. Should Terry present with any other symptoms, Korvo will be able to select one. Not, he supposes, that identifying the disease will actually solve much. After all, human remedies aren’t likely to work for a Schlorpian. 

Still, once he knows what’s wrong, perhaps he can reach out to human researchers for assistance. He loathes humans, and he loathes reaching out, and he loathes assistance, but for Terry—well, for Terry, he supposes he can swallow his pride. The human scientists will be tripping over themselves at the opportunity to study an alien; Korvo can be certain of  _ that.  _ He’s been turning away government lab proposals ever since they landed on this damnable planet. They may not be popular with the townspeople, but damn if they aren’t celebrities when it comes to people who want to rip them open and study their insides.

Of course, Korvo would be a hypocrite if he blamed them. Schlorpians are fascinating creatures worthy of much study. Besides, if a human landed on  _ his  _ planet, he’d be one of the first to rip them open, too. Insatiable curiosity seems to be one of the few things Schlorpians and humans have in common. But those are dwellings for another time—he has a job to do, right now. He hunches in front of his computer, chewing anxiously on his lower lip, and gets to work.

Unfortunately, just as he begins to research the various viruses that cause common colds, Terry’s footsteps cross the floor upstairs. The bathroom door squeaks on its hinges, and then Terry retches. Oh, no. Korvo’s own stomach drops, his palms chilling. Another symptom furthers his research, but it also means the disease state is progressing rapidly. He races upstairs to find Terry huddled next to their toilet, gagging. 

“Oh, Terry,” he says, his voice weak. Fuck—he  _ hates  _ watching Terry suffer this way. It isn’t right! Terry’s impulsive and naive, sometimes, but he certainly hasn’t done anything to deserve this misery. Korvo tentatively lowers himself to sit next to his partner, reaching out and patting his shoulder a touch awkwardly. “There, uh, t-there. It’s okay.”

Terry spits bile into the toilet, then leans back and takes a shuddery breath. “Korvo,” he mumbles, his voice raw. “’m sorry. The waffles were really good.”

“Don’t apologize. I’ll make you some more when you’re—when you’re all healthy again. I’ll make us all some. Then we can eat them together, as a family.”

“Promise?”

Korvo hesitates. He knows full well that’s a promise he can’t keep, but if it makes Terry feel better in the moment, does it really matter? “I—I promise.”

“Okay.” Terry reaches for a hand towel, wiping his mouth. “Then I’ll hold you to it.”

“In the meantime, we’ll try something lighter once your stomach settles,” Korvo says, studying Terry carefully. He feels warm to the touch again, and his skin is flushed darker than usual—the deep blue of his blood shines through the skin of his cheeks and shoulders, coloring him teal. Sweat beads on his forehead and temples. When he blinks, Korvo can see how slowly his third eyelids recoil. 

“I don’t want to try anything else,” Terry protests weakly. “I feel gross.”

“I know. We can wait until lunch.” Korvo touches the nape of Terry’s neck soothingly, then goes to fetch a washcloth from the bedroom and wet it with cold water. He wipes the sweat away from Terry’s overheated skin, then sets the cloth against the back of his neck. Terry hums appreciatively, leaning his head against the toilet seat. “Are you done?”

Terry shifts uncomfortably.

“It’s alright if not,” Korvo adds hastily. “I’d much rather you vomit here than onto our carpet.”

“Sorry,” Terry mumbles again.

“No, you don’t have to be. You’re ill. You can’t control how your body reacts. Here, I’ll set a trashcan next to the bed and prepare some mentha for later. Stay here as long as you need.”

Korvo leaves Terry to bond with their toilet and snags the trash can from the corner of their bedroom, setting it next to Terry’s side of the bed instead. Then he goes downstairs and boils a handful of crushed mentha leaves in water, pouring the resultant draught into one of Terry’s many, many mugs. He sweetens it with honey (albeit not much, lest it upset Terry’s stomach again) and carries it back upstairs, where he finds Terry enthusiastically retching again. The mug clinks gently as he sets it down on the nightstand, and then he hovers awkwardly in the bedroom, trying to give Terry time to finish. 

Once Terry stops vomiting, Korvo steps back into the bathroom. Terry doesn’t bother with a greeting this time—instead, he fumbles to flush the toilet and leans back, groaning. Korvo winces in sympathy. He kneels, reaching out to rub a hand tentatively up and down Terry’s back. As he does, he feels each ridge of Terry’s spine, each tense and shivering muscle, and his alarm rears its head violently again. He has to find out what’s wrong, and soon. Despite his worry, he tries to keep his voice calm and quiet when he speaks, unwilling to get Terry worked up again. 

“Here, c-come on. Why don’t you come lay down?” he suggests. “The bed is more comfortable than this. You’ll feel better there.”

Terry mutters something incomprehensible and doesn’t move.

“Let’s go. Get up now,” Korvo says briskly (but not, he hopes, unkindly). He wraps his arm around Terry’s waist, pulling Terry’s arm over his shoulders before standing. Terry stumbles up with him, leaning heavily against Korvo’s side. He’s a scrawny bastard, but he’s tall, and his weight isn’t insignificant. Korvo keeps a careful grip on him as he leads him back to the bed, and Terry collapses onto the mattress as soon as he’s able to. “Do you want the mentha now or later?”

Terry groans and covers his eyes with his arm. Korvo takes that as a  _ later. _

Korvo rewets several more washcloths. He replaces the one on the back of Terry’s neck, which has already warmed through, and shifts Terry’s arm aside so he can place one across his eyes. The last cloth he uses to wipe down Terry’s gangly limbs, trying valiantly to ignore his partner’s pathetic shivering as he does so. When he checks Terry’s temperature again, it’s higher than he’d like it to be, but not dangerously so.

“You’re still okay,” he says, patting Terry’s narrow chest in what he hopes is an encouraging gesture. “Right now you’re displaying all the ordinary human symptoms of the stomach flu. That’s a very survivable disease.”

“For humans,” Terry mutters disconsolately.

“For humans, and maybe for Schlorpians, too,” Korvo insists. “I—I’m gonna contact some human labs, I think, a-a-and send them some blood samples so they can confirm the diagnosis. After that, maybe they’ll—well, maybe they can help us figure out what to do to make you feel better.”

Terry pushes the washcloth away from his eyes, arching his eyebrows. “Seriously? You’re gonna work with humans?”

“They’ll probably prove useless,” Korvo says defensively, “but I will admit they know more about these diseases than I do. If I combine my knowledge with theirs, we stand a fighting chance. Besides, they’ll be honored to get a chance to work with me. They’ve been clamoring for an opportunity like this since we landed.”

“Yeah, an opportunity to stick probes up your butt.”

“If that’s what it takes,” Korvo says, folding his arms tightly over his chest.

Terry laughs weakly, then winces and clutches his stomach. “Nooo, you can’t be funny right now. It hurts too much to laugh at you.”

“I didn’t say anything funny!”

“You totally did. Man, and we don’t even have buttholes. They’ll be super disappointed to figure that out.” Terry snickers, albeit more carefully than before. “Hey but you don’t really think they’d, uh—”

“I don’t know! I don’t understand humans! I—I just feel like butt probes are a thing you should do  _ after  _ your species h-have gotten to know each other a little bit.”

“So it’s, like, what? A second date thing?”

“Third date, at least.”

“Duly noted.”

“Now be quiet, lay here, and drink your mentha when you feel up to it,” Korvo instructs, standing up. “I’m going to prepare the sampling kit and then I’ll be back. Don’t forget to change the washcloths when they get warm or they won’t help.”

Terry salutes him lazily. Korvo leaves to prepare the kit, and he returns half an hour later to collect several samples of Terry’s blood. Terry whines about it—of course he does—but he doesn’t do so as enthusiastically as usual. He must be too fatigued to put up much of a fight. Yet more worry bites sharply at Korvo when he realizes that, and he contacts the nearest hospital as soon as he can. It’s an unbelievable hassle to explain everything to them, but as he’d assumed, they aren’t going to turn their noses up at an opportunity to research alien pathophysiology.

One of the nearby microbiology labs sends an intern to collect the blood samples, and Korvo tosses the carefully-wrapped package out of the front door so they can pick it up outside of the house. No way in  _ hell  _ is he letting more festering human germs inside. The diagnosis comes back a couple of hours later: Terry has viral gastroenteritis caused by a rotavirus. 

“The stomach flu!” Korvo cries victoriously, flinging their bedroom door open. Terry groans at him. “You have the stomach flu. I knew it!”

“I’m gonna throw up on you if you shout again,” Terry threatens him. 

Korvo skitters away from the bed. It’s a relief to finally have a name to Terry’s illness, but it isn’t all good news. “That was the good part,” he says sourly. “You’re supposed to congratulate me now. I’ve had to deal with human bureaucrats all afternoon to get that diagnosis.”

“Congrats, great job, really cool.”

“You don’t sound happy.”

“That would be because I’m not.” Terry rubs his eyes, then looks guiltily at Korvo, who’s wilted in the face of his irritation. “Sorry. It’s not ‘cause of you. I just feel like shit. But, um—thanks for all the work. I’m glad you’re figuring stuff out.”

Korvo’s shoulders slump, and he moves forward to sit on the edge of the bed. “Would you rather I left? The rest isn’t awful news, but it’s probably not what you want to hear.”

“No, stay,” Terry decides. “Tell me.”

“There’s no cure,” Korvo says. “Not even for humans.”

Terry closes his eyes, exhaustion written across his face. “So I’m gonna die.”

“No, no! Not necessarily. Most humans recover without any medical intervention. It’s an unpleasant disease, but also a mild one. What’s most important is to make sure that you stay hydrated and that your fever stays down.”

“That’s good news,” Terry says. He sounds suspicious. “So I’m gonna be okay?”

“Possibly.” Korvo can’t quite keep the excitement out of his voice as he continues, “I’m working with the researchers at the lab to try and predict how the virus will affect your organ systems. I—I offered them our bio-simulator, and they’re trying to reconfigure it to build a full-body simulation of—of  _ you,  _ Terry!”

“Of me?” Terry’s brow furrows. “Why?”

“I—I never thought of using it that way, either,” Korvo says, his eyes shining, “but it’s really—it’s really a cool idea, isn’t it? Th-these humans aren’t so bad when it comes to thinking up weird shit. Once they build a simulation, they can infect it with the virus and watch as it runs its course. That way we can predict what’s going to happen to you in the future, a-and all the effects the virus will have on Schlorpian physiology.”

“So you’ll be able to tell whether or not I’m going to die?”

“Yes,” Korvo says, the excitement in his voice suddenly faltering. It’s a thrilling invention, but he’s...scared, he has to admit. He hopes the simulation will come back with good news, but he can’t be sure. “We should have results by tomorrow. Now I—I have to go and holocall the humans again. They’re just babies when it comes to Schlorpian technology, and I don’t want them blowing up our bio-simulator while they reconfigure it.”

As Korvo heads for the bedroom door, Terry speaks again—his voice shakes. “Korvo, wait.”

Korvo stops in the doorway, glancing back at Terry. Terry sits up, hugging the blanket tightly around himself. His eyes won’t meet Korvo’s. “What is it?” Korvo prompts. When Terry doesn’t respond, a frown flickers across Korvo’s face. “Terry?”

“I’m scared,” Terry whispers. “I don’t think I want to know.”

“Terry.” Korvo crosses back to him, taking a seat cross-legged on the bed. Terry stares at his own lap, sniffling quietly and wringing his hands. He splays his abracadactyls so he can twist them together, too. “We need to know. And—and even if the simulation does give us bad news, we’re not giving up.”

Terry squirms around, then flops over so he can rest his head in Korvo’s lap. Korvo nestles a hand against his head, petting gently. “What if there’s nothing you can do?” Terry asks softly. “Korvo, you’re, like, the smartest person I know, but you can’t do everything.”

“Who says?” Korvo demands, bristling. “I—I told you already, I’m not letting you die. Once I know how the virus will affect your organs, I can design something to counteract it. It’ll be easy.”

It won’t be easy at all, actually, but Terry doesn’t need to know that.

Terry tilts his head, looking sadly at Korvo. “That scares me, too.”

“What? Why? I wouldn’t create anything that would hurt you. It—it’ll be just like the healing chamber on the ship, only for diseases instead of injuries. Even if it does hurt, I can sedate you so you don’t feel it. You don’t have to be scared.”

“I’m not scared of that. I’m scared for you.”

Korvo looks uncertainly at him. “Why? Why would you be—?”

“You don’t know how to give up, man. You don’t know what it means to quit. I—I worry, about what’s going to happen to you if I…” Terry clears his throat. “So anyway, if something happens, I don’t want you to try to bring me back.”

Korvo swallows hard against the sudden lump in his throat. 

“Okay?” Terry shifts to meet his eyes. “Okay, Korvy? If I’m dead, I’m dead, and you give up, you quit trying, you move on and you take care of our family.”

Korvo squeezes his eyes shut, trying despserately to ignore what they both already know and can’t acknowledge: if Terry dies, so will Korvo. There’s simply no way Korvo  _ doesn’t  _ have this illness. He had it the second Terry stepped into their house after breaking quarantine. His immune system, so unaccustomed to human diseases, wouldn’t have been able to put up even a meager defense. He knew what was going to happen to him then, and he knows it now, but he dares not address it. It won’t solve anything; it will only make Terry feel worse. 

“Okay,” Korvo whispers, opening his eyes. “But you’re not going to stop me from trying everything I can to keep you alive.”

“Deal.”

Korvo shifts restlessly, glancing at the door. He feels stifled, suddenly, anxious to get back to work—there’s so much to do and so little time to do it. He has to keep Terry alive. He  _ has  _ to. “I—I’d better get back downstairs. The humans have probably broken something already.”

Terry hugs him around the waist, then shifts away. “Don’t forget to eat and drink. I know how you get when you’re focused. It’s not healthy.”

“I’ll be okay,” Korvo says. The thought of food makes his stomach roll. He studiously ignores the feeling as he heads for the door. “Rest, Terry. I’ll bring you lunch as soon as I’ve assessed the humans’ progress.”

“No rush. I’m not really hungry.”

“I can’t imagine why not.”

A smile flickers across Terry’s face. “Was that a joke?”

“Goodbye, Terry. I’ll be back later.”

“Bye, bud.” Terry curls up around his pillow, nuzzling into it. “Don’t forget to call the replicants when they get home. I wanna talk to them.”

Oh  _ shit, _ the replicants. How on Earth is Korvo going to tell them everything that’s happened since last night? They are—they are not going to be happy. Korvo gulps as he heads downstairs, already mentally rehearsing his defense.


End file.
